


Enough Mistakes Between

by Kardiasteria



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, shameful shameful fluff, you gon' get diabeetus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kardiasteria/pseuds/Kardiasteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It can sometimes be an incredible pain in the ass to comfort an upset, pissy little brat- Especially when you have the propensity to be a pissy little brat yourself.</p>
<p>You do it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Story

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is actually a few months old and had been the first thing I'd written in literally two years, so it could be better. It could also be worse though, and I hope some of y'all will enjoy it anyway. :)
> 
> Also, a warning: I'm typing out the lisp. I'm sorry, it's easier for me to do it that way for some unfathomable reason, and makes it more obvious who's speaking. If it _really, super_ bothers you but you want to read the fic, let me know and I'll consider changing it or putting a revised version up somewheres.

You've been surreptitiously observing him from the corner of your eye for about half an hour now, studying the shifts in his body language. It's bled gradually from his default setting, 'Troll Napoleon, Lord of Cantankerous Midgets', into his less common 'Desperately Clinging to Bitchy Façade as a Cover for Emotional Compromisation' mode. You're beginning to feel like the host from one of those mid-day nature shows Tavros liked so much, moronically tailing a potentially rabid beast for fuck even knows why.  _Here we have the rare and obnoxious Karkata Imbecilus. We need to be very careful not to startle it; If it feels threatened, it emits agonizing shrieks of obscenities that can reach decibels so high as to completely destroy a troll's auricular sponge clots. It feeds off the irritation of others, and can regularly be found instigating arguments over trivial shit that nobody cares about._ Eheheh.

You derail that train of thought to get back to the matter at hand. The train goes barreling off the tracks at high speed and flips twice before it combusts and promptly explodes. It leaves exactly 1.4 survivors that dearly wish there'd been none at all.

Moving on.

At the moment, there are two major markers you can use to form a hypothesis regarding Karkat's Deal and what the fuck it might be  _this time_.

First, there's the way he's curled in on himself somewhat in his computer chair, shoulders slightly hunched towards his ears. This is a defensive posture that nearly everyone comes by naturally, presuming their thinkpan hasn't  _completely_ rotted out from disuse. It's often an auto-response to confrontation. Given his frantic, forceful typing, it can be safely assumed that Vantas is vehemently flipping his shit all over some unfortunate fuckpod, surprising absolutely no one ever.

Second, and much more strangely, he's apparently having trouble keeping his customary scowl firmly affixed to his face. It flickers every so often, just a bit, flashing a pained (or guilty?) grimace that he's clearly trying to suppress, before his usual sour expression bounces back into place. Whoever he's having his katfight with must have stumbled upon a chink in his metaphorical crabby armor, and taken the opportunity to jab none too gently at the tender and vulnerable tissue underneath. That or he feels a little bad about doing something similar to them, but if that were the case you think he'd probably stop and calm his rumble spheres; For all that he's a veritable geyser of vitriol, he doesn't usually want to genuinely upset anyone.

So. The Deal is almost doubtlessly an instance of Karkat making a piss-poor choice in who to depreciate tonight, and getting bit directly in the nubs for his fuckheadery. Case solved, break out the effervescent fermented-vinefruit fluids. You are a master of problem-solving and have earned the title 'Prince of Polysemy' on the Puzzle Scale.

Except really, when one knows what to look for (and you obviously do) it's hardly difficult to pick up the indicators and piece together the most likely situation; You don't have to be a seer. Just about anyone could work this stuff out if they took a minute to watch for signs, and you're certainly no stranger to Karkat Watching.

_…_ Okay, that arrangement of words was basically awful and comes off  _significantly_  creepier than it actually is. NICE JOB, asshole, way to sound like a stalker. It's not like you're ducking behind piles and gleefully jotting notes or something similarly psychotic. You pay attention to the details of things that are relevant to you is all, and sort of subconsciously catalog Useful KK Data in your memory banks to save yourself from/exacerbate problems, depending on your mood. But yes, FINE, maybe you  _do_ put in an iota of actual effort into being attentive every now and then, in some vague attempt to be a good-

…Well. Whatever it is you are.

By now, an agitated, clicking thrum has started to spill up from the back of Karkat's throat, reinforcing your prior conclusions about his Deal. Normally the vocalization should be taken as a red flag of imminent violence, but Karkat uses it to express vexation so regularly that it's easily ignored as background noise by the rest of the group. It's not the occurrence of the sound that's notable, but rather, the pitch of it; It's lower than usual, almost edging towards a rumble. After sweeps of his company, you've come to understand this to denote a less shallow variety of umbrage where Karkat's concerned.

You regard your height-deficient friend from across the room as his tells become easier and easier to see, until they're approaching downright obvious- His jaw clenching, lips pursing, fingers mashing keys even more violently than usual, much to the horror of dead scientists everywhere, who surely thought this was a feat not possible by the laws of physics. Fortunately for Karkat (in this instance), your motley band of bulgebiters is by and large composed of oblivious morons, who are too occupied at the moment to notice anyway. That boon rarely lasts very long, though. Just as you begin to wonder whether you want to pull him aside and keep him from pissing away what little dignity he has left by causing scene, Vantas finally achieves a high enough level on the Common Fucking Sense gauge to figure out that he's roughly a quarter-step away from giving his distress away to all the occupants of the lab. Praise the whimsical clown gods.

When he takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, you can see the strain it puts on him to try and maintain a semblance of composure for once in his life. He leans back in his chair for a moment, muscles tight and teeth gritting, staring unseeingly at his screen while he gathers himself. When he's apparently satisfied with the amount of self control he's managed to accumulate, or else is sick of trying to wrangle his temper, he punches in the code to lock his computer and pulls himself up from his chair, taking his leave of the lab in a carefully inconspicuous way.

You turn back to your own monitor after he's stepped onto the transportalizer, returning to the work you had previously started dealing with a small bug in the system. It's far from strenuous to fix for someone as apeshit bananas at this stuff as you are, but you're in no hurry, so you take your time with it anyway. When that's finished, you idle a bit, running a handful of checks that you know you don't actually need to do and organizing some files of coding.

Eventually, though, you run out of excuses to procrastinate. It figures this would be the onetime that EVERYONE has accomplished the great feat of scraping together enough brain cells to passably operate a computer for a while without your holding their hands. Fuck.

You push yourself up from your seat with a sigh, habitually locking the computer as you do. Guess it's time to go tackle a  _real_  problem. You try to mentally prepare yourself for whichever ridiculous routine you're going to have to work through  _this_ time as you exit the lab in pursuit of the Cancer.

 

.

-::{( ~ . : '*' : . ~ )}::-  
.

Karkat's tucked up on the sill of a huge port window at the end of a vast, empty hallway when you find him. The lighting in the area is so low that you'd have been completely blind were it not for the fact that your species is nocturnal, and you very nearly miss his small figure. It's a somewhat cold section of shithole- A little chilly for someone with your position on the hemospectrum but not so much as to be  _too_ unpleasant, and it's permeated with the same strange smell of dust and patina as the rest of the building structure.

He's ignoring the meteor-speckled abyss of the veil beyond the glass, and you can't say you blame him; Any charm the view could have held has long since been lost to just about everyone here at this point, seeing as how you've been unduly stranded here to await your respective dooms. Instead, his gaze is directed to where his hands are clasped together on his lap, and he's slouched in such a way that you can't tell what expression he's wearing. He's so absorbed in whatever he's thinking about that he doesn't take notice of your approach, and you sincerely hope that you'll startle the piss out of him for making you go so far out of the way to find him on this god-forsaken rock.

"Hey there, thtarshine. You're looking particularly chipper thith evening. Want to let a bro in on what'th put you in thuch a delightful mood?"

He jumps in startle, whipping his head up at the abrupt sound of your voice, and as soon as he sees you he's got his petulant front thrown up. You have a split second before his eyes focus on you, though, to catch the stricken look he'd been equipped with prior to his notification of your presence. It barely even qualifies as a glimpse, really, but it's enough to cause a sharp twinge in your chest cavity. Your mind stays with the image of it even as he glares at you, overlaying what you're actually looking at and engaging your sympathies for him.

Until he opens his gargantuan maw and ruins it, anyway, by harshly barking out, "Listen you contemptuous sack of hot putrid bile, I am fresh out of tolerance chips for half-witted diatribe, so if you could kindly pack your sarcastic bullshit back into your mangled face gash and fuck off, I would really appreciate it!"

You wrinkle your nose in distaste and lean against a cold metal wall. "Aren't  _you_ a thweetheart tonight? That'th an incredibly enchanting way to greet thomeone and all, but we both know you aren't going to charm me into leaving."

"Well isn't that just a goddamn shame?" he sneers. "It's alright though; Luckily, I don't have any issues with manually ejecting you from the area if need be."

"Oh my god, KK, theriouthly?" you ask, already raising a hand to rub at one of your temples. "Not that it ithn't  _barrelth_ of fun or anything, but can't we forego the part where you act like a vile little wiggler thith time? I really don't feel like dealing with it right now."

"Hey that's great, because I don't want you to deal with it either! I love it when we're on the same page, man. Since we're in agreement here, I will once again offer you the solution to this problem:  _Fuck. off_."

Fantastic. He's already set his mind to being especially difficult. You scowl and stomp your way over to where he' still sitting on the window sill and give him a solid shove sideways. He squawks in indignation, and while he's flailing to regain his balance you take up residence in the space you've just cleared on the ledge, leaving some room between him and yourself. Karkat glowers at you once he's righted himself, but makes no move to actually retaliate, and crosses his arms over his chest.

You turn away from each other in a huff and sit silently for a while, a matching pair of derisive adolescents refusing to acknowledge one another. It's a grubbish thing to do, and you sadly can't say that this sort of behavior is rare between the two of you. Honestly, it's pretty much the same old ballad and scuttle; The details are never quite the same, but the results are almost always despairingly similar.

On the plus side, you can't bait each other if you're both employing the cold shoulder tactic, which allows for a little time to simmer down to some degree. Sometimes you'll doggedly hold on to your ire until Karkat breaks and asks if you're still friends, but his current offences are fairly minor and you're still feeling reasonably magnanimous, so you elect to skip that this time.

"Tho?" you try to prompt him when your temper has marginally cooled, glancing in his direction. He shifts a bit, but neither responds nor looks at you, and you sigh in exasperation. "KK. Tell me what the damn problem ith."

"Where did you get the idea that there even  _is_ a problem? Is the desire to be granted a little fucking solitude suddenly not a thing that happens under normal circumstances? Has Terezi and her imaginary courtblock of bloodhungry advisors effected a law that says I need to be hefting around a fully distended torment bladder to want a reprieve from the company of you slurrystains for a while?"

"It'th not an offithial ordinanthe, no, but you uthually theem to abide by it anyway," you snark.

"…Let me put it into small words in the hopes that you understand basic language enough to comprehend the information I am trying to impart to you: I. am fucking. FINE. I just wanted. to be left.  _alone_."

_Please_. "Dude, there'th no point in your pathetic attempts to plant the thpore pod of doubt here. You are an open book, Vantath, and theeing ath how I am an authenticated fucking geniuth, I obviouthly know how to read. I know it'th hard for you with your low levelth of brain activity, but you should really try to come to termth with it," you put your hand on his shoulder, a mock-supportive gesture, "Let go of your denial; Free yourthelf from your lieth; Tell me what'th wrong tho we can move on with our liveth, for the love of all that wath good in the univerthe before we dragged in the apocalypthe with flaming meteorth in our wake."

"I'm not telling you  _shit,_ assbag," he half-snarls, slapping your hand away.

"Tho you admit that there ith indeed shit to be told."

" _Sollux,_ " he fists his own hair in frustration, "Even if there was enough tellable shit to fill up an entire noblesse swimming gorge and  _drown_  myself in it, it  _still_  wouldn't be any of your globe-biting business, so why don't you just  _GO AWAY?!_ "

" _HOLY ACTUAL BUGWINGED FUCK,_ KARKAT!" you snap, irritation suddenly spiking again, "Thtop pretending like you think for ONE HOT THECOND that I'm not going to make you tell me THOMETHING about what'th bothering you before either of uth tho much ath  _thets foot_ out of thith hall again! It'th inthufferable to watch you thkulk around the meteor like a dejected waif, and I don't feel like being thubjected to it, tho let'th work together to untwitht your frilly ladieth' undergarmentth and remove them from where they are quite firmly lodged up your nook."

"Do everyone a favor and go  _CHOKE ON A RANCID HEAVING BONEBULGE,_ Captor! Preferablyuntil you _asphyxiate_ and we can all at long last be spared of the WORTHLESS DRIVEL that flows like a majestic waterfall of idiocy from every pore of your disgusting carcass! You can't exert any more control over what comes out of my noisehole than you can over  _yours!_  Which, FOR THE RECORD, 'ITH' AN AMOUNT OF CONTROL 'THO' MINDBLOWINGLY 'THMALL' THAT IT MAKES MICROBES LOOK LIKE FULLSCALE COLONIZED  _PLANETS!_ "

" _KK, THO HELP ME GOD,_ _ **I WILL SHOOSH YOU**_ _._ "

"Like FUCK you will! Try it and see if I don't  _chew the fingers_ right off the gelastic excuse of an appendage that you call a hand!"

" _WATCH ME YOU BITE-THIZED LITTLE BUCKET-THUCKER!_ "

He doesn't even have the decency to look surprised when you jump on him and send the both of you sprawling to the dirty floor; He just tucks his arms between your thoraces and braces for impact. The second you hit the ground, he pushes his forearms hard against your chest to try and throw you off him, but you get a good enough grip around his shoulders that he can only shove you so far away. At the first available opportunity, you work yourself into a position where you can clamp your knees to his sides for anchoring, high enough up his torso that you're out of the (not very extensive) damage range of his legs.

You're both thrumming lowly, despite it being well passed the time to be giving out warnings. You're baring your teeth at each other aggressively, though you don't intend to use them, while Karkat furiously attempts to dislodge you by flailing and bucking, and you do your damndest not to budge. He well might bruise where your knees are biting in near his ribs, and you can feel your own welts starting already in the parts of your calves that are locked too tightly at his sharp hips. When you feel like you're well enough secured to him you reach up to try and get a hand on his head, and he abandons pressing against your chest to catch both your wrists and hold them at bay.

After several minutes of grappling, you're both snarling and breathing heavy. Karkat's thrashing has gotten you both tilted enough to one side that when throws as much weight as he can to the other, he manages to flip you over onto your back and knock a little of the air from your lungs. You're still latched on to him, so he has no choice but to go over with you, and you end up sandwiched between him and the chilled floor.

Considering that your goal is to pap this motherfucker into submission and he's now in a position where it'd be much easier for him to get away, it could be a fairly disadvantageous place to find yourself. Fortunately for you, you've got a long set of legs and you know how to make use of them: You wrap them tightly around the Cancer's waist and hook your ankles together to keep him pinned to you, barring any chance of escape. Then you suddenly jab your heels into the small of his back, forcing Karkat's groin to press into your own, and he gives a startled gasp at the intimate contact. You narrowly suppress a shudder, yourself.

It's an underhanded trick to pull, but you have approximately zero fucks to give and, grinning, you take advantage of the momentary lapse in his grip to make another go of getting a hand on his head. The motion jolts him out of his distraction though, and not only does he reestablish his hold on your wrists, but he  _snaps his teeth at your god damn fingers_.

_Oh FUCK_   _no_. Silly rumpus playtime for wrigglers is  _beyond_  over now. You pulled back fast enough to keep him from catching them, but you are  _not_  going to put up with that little shit _actually_  trying to fucking  _bite you_.

There's a crackle of electricity, and in a red-blue flash you've rendered all of Karkat's limbs completely immobile, locking them down with your psionics. He yelps, and shortly starts howling about what a horrible lawless fuckface you are while he tries to wrench himself free, but to no avail. You're content to unhook your legs and relax underneath him while he struggles, catching your breath and glowering. He gets more and more frustrated (and loud) the longer he's trying to break himself loose, and you vindictively decide that he deserves it, the fucking brat.

 

.

-::{( ~ . : '*' : . ~ )}::-  
.

By the time he's prepared to admit defeat, you've finished being pissed off about his failed attempt to chomp on you (and in all fairness, he  _did_ tell you he was going to make one). When he goes lax in your telekinetic clutches, you let him drop to fully rest on your chest, but you don't release the lightshow hold just yet in case he decides to make a last-ditch effort. He stays otherwise quiet while he pants, trying to recover his normal oxygen levels after so much exertion, and you wait patiently until his breathing has evened out.

"Give up?" you ask him, finally carding your fingers through his thick, messy hair.

"You're a dirty fucking cheat," Karkat mumbles into the spot where his face is settled against your neck in lieu of answering. He's worn himself out pretty well, and that's nice because it will make the rest of this ordeal much less awful on the both of you.

"Irrelevant. Never thaid I would play fair, now did I? Do you know what they thay about athuming thingth, KK?"

"Lick my pulsating globes, is what."

You snicker. "Maybe thome other time, *honey. Again, I athk: Give up?"

"Are there any other actual options here?" he asks bitterly, and you can feel him scowling against you.

"Well, I gueth you could always go back to thcreaming and flailing ineffectually."

"So, no."

"Not really."

He still takes a moment to consider it. Karkat Vantas is not a fan of losing, and he likes throwing in the towel even less, being the obstinate pain in the ass that he is. You pet him idly while he insists on thinking about it, even though you both know perfectly well that he does not, in fact, have a different option. Eventually he takes in a deep breath and huffs it out slowly, the pointed exhalation raising gooseflesh across your skin. "Yeah, okay; I give."

"Awethome. Good call, bro."

He sits up as soon as you return the use of his extremities and you follow his example, minus the way he squirms and shakes out his hands to try and rid himself of lingering psionic tingles. After he's finished, you tug him along with you across the floor.

When you reach the nearest wall you prop your back against it, then move to pull the shorter boy into your lap. Karkat purses his lips and gives you the stinkeye, but lets you do it anyway, and doesn't even grumble all that much when you go about situating him to your liking- Not that he actually stays where you move him. It takes a minute or two of joint-effort adjustments, complete with snarky commentary from both parties, to get him settled in a way that is mutually agreeable. He ends up sitting more or less diagonally in the midst of your folded legs, with his head pillowed by your right shoulder and both his legs draped over your left knee.

After all the wiggling around is finished and he finally stills against you, you curl your arms loosely around him and rest your cheek on the top of his head, just in front of a nubby horn. "Alright, want to fill me in now?"

"Not particularly," he snorts derisively.

"Too bad, do it anyway."

There's a very annoyed, but resigned sigh. "Shit, Sollux, I don't know; What in the everloving fuck do you even want me to say here?"

You ponder it for a second, deciding how best to get the ball rolling with this, and settle on trying to guide him along. "You were arguing with thomeone, right," you prompt, more a statement than a question.

"When am I  _not_ arguing with someone?"

"Practically never. It upthet you thith time, though."

He shifts uncomfortably. "I guess."

"What were you fighting about?"

"The exact level of incompetence and phenomenal, pan-rottingly asinine failure they have secured in their repulsive and grubfisted possession."

You furrow your brows. "How ith that any different from every  _other_ argument you've ever gotten into?"

"It's not," he admits without hesitance.

"Then what bothered you about it? Wath it thomeone you like a lot, or…?"

" _Pfft_. No. No, it wasn't," he scoffs.

"Tho they jutht hit a thore thubject?"

"More like they lazer-targeted it and went straight for the jugular."

"Well if they know how to find the right buttonth to push, then wouldn't it have to be thomeone you're at leatht a little clothe to?"

"I don't think 'close' is really the right word to use."

"Aww,  _KK_ ," you tease him, "Doeth thomeone have a little black crush?"

Karkat fails to be amused. "Captor."

"Okay, okay," You concede, because you happen to know it wouldn't be a case of pitch attraction, "Tho who wath it?"

Karkat goes quiet for a beat.

It's a touch disconcerting, so you lift your head and turn it enough to be able to see his face. His gaze is settled off to one side and he looks sort of… Pensive? Abashed? You aren't really sure. It makes your digestive sack twist either way and prompts you to stroke your thumb against his hip, where your hand has been resting, in an attempt to ease him. It doesn't appear to reassure him at all, but you don't think it bothers him either, so you keep it up. "KK?"

"Yeah," he shuffles a little in your lap and his odd expression slips away for something of a grimace, like he's just realized he didn't respond to the question and is rather irked about it. "Sorry. I was arguing with myself."

For a second you think he means that he was deliberating whether or not to answer you, or maybe  _how_  to answer you, but then your brain plays a round of Connect the Dots. While he may well  _have_  just had an internal debate of that ilk, what he  _meant_ was that it was himself he'd been fighting with earlier- The dispute that'd upset him had been with his past and/or future self.

"…Oh.."

"Yeah. 'Oh'."

Gosh, that sure is an awful lot of awkward you're feeling right now. And heartache; That's also a Thing That Is Happening. You are falling down in all this heartache, that's how much of it there is, because if you're being honest, you can't fucking stand it when Karkat hurts. And no one can make Karkat hurt like himself. You might half-joke together about who hates who/who hates themselves most— It's just something you do, and neither of you ever think anything of it— but self-loathing is indeed a very real thing that you both have to deal with. It is also something about which you have never shared a serious conversation.

Neither of you are very fond of nor good at discussing your feelings. There are a few reasons you aren't officially established in a quadrant together, and that's a big one; You have mutually, if silently agreed to be a couple of spineless cluckbeasts as far as sitting down and talking about it goes. You do the same thing with nearly every  _other_ weighty subject, too. It's a little scary to deal with intimate topics, and instead of biting the proverbial bullet you just toe around each other until something happens to take that choice off the menu.

Still… You should really put the interlocution option on the table, at least. If this turns out to be the one time he decides he  _does_  want to get things off his chest… Well. You should let him know that he  _can,_ and that you'd suffer through the strange discomfort of it with him willingly if with a bit of hesitance.

"Do you…" you fidget a bit and clear your throat awkwardly. Wow, this is weird. "Do you want to, uh… talk about it…?"

He looks up at you first with a face full of such utter, flustered astonishment that you can't help the short sputter of surprised laughter that tumbles from your mouth; It's a ridiculous and endearing look, his eyes wide and his jaw a little slack- You've never seen him wearing anything like it before. Then, he recovers from his initial shock enough to pull into an expression of complete incredulousness, as if you'd suggested something so totally absurd that he can't even believe he's still sitting here tolerating your existence. "No I don't want to  _talk about it!_ What in the sweet flipping fuck is even  _wrong_ with you?!"

He's greatly exaggerating his apparent disbelief and outrage, you know- And you're about 200% sure  _he_   _knows_ you know- but you decide not to call him on it because of reasons. First and foremost of those reasons being that there's an embarrassed flush trying to rise in his cheeks, and it is impossibly endearing. So instead of going out of your way to further mortify him, you snigger amusedly and tighten your arms around him, hugging him to your chest. Karkat starts yowling obscenity-ridden protests in total (mostly fake) indignation, scrambling to try and pull out of your grip, but he can't do very much when his ass is parked in your lap and his arms are pinned under yours against his sides.

He lets out a startled squawk when you abruptly release him from the embrace, and with the way he'd been struggling, he would have inadvertently flung himself out of your lap and directly into the floor if not for you catching him by the shoulders. He twists to face you the best he can with how he's seated and opens his mouth, intending to gift you a fresh wave of bitching, but you've caught his jaw in your fingers before he can spit out a single furious syllable and you guide his face to yours.

He stills when your lips meet his, to your immense gratification, and the kiss you impel is a kind you don't give often- Soft and unhurried, awash with simple adoration. You draw him into it sweetly with light, dry presses, tiny and gentle sucks at his bottom lip, until he responds to you in kind. He doesn't exactly turn to putty in your hands- And you didn't expect him to- but the tension does drain from his shoulders, and his furor bleeds out of him. Karkat is nothing if not a romantic, and he's endlessly susceptible to delicate little gestures like this one if you know the right moments to apply them.

You linger for a while, quite happy to indulge in the languid, saccharine movements of his mouth against yours. Somewhere along the way he adjusts himself to straddle your legs and face you properly, settling his hands on your shoulders, and that makes it all the easier to prolong the not-so-sloppy makeouts. He presses closer to you when you tangle your fingers in his hair, and you sigh contentedly against his lips while he deepens the kiss by just the smallest margin.

At length, you pull back- Slowly, so as not to disrupt the fragile calm that has so recently descended upon the two of you. The Cancer watches you move away with half-lidded eyes, and you give him a lopsided grin that makes him snerk, but with your current proximity you can see the way his mouth twitches up at the corners. You glide your hands lightly down the back of his neck and over his shoulders, then slip them around his waist to keep him in place so you can lean in and nuzzle just next to one of his small-pointed ears. When you start chirring against it, hushed and affectionate, you can feel the tiny shiver that runs down his spine. He gives a soft chirp in response, leaning in close and tucking his face against the side of your neck.

"Feel better, KK?" you murmur with a smile.

"… I guess," he admits, just as quietly.

"That'th good. You're welcome," you say smugly. He slaps you on the shoulder for it, though it lacks much force.

"Shut up, fuckface," he mumbles, the tone completely negating any irritation the words tried to imply.

 

.

-::{( ~ . : '*' : . ~ )}::-

.

You might fight like pissy little wigglers until you want to punch each other's lights out sometimes, and all the stupid, intermittently  _painful_  bullshit you put one another through can make you wonder if it's even worth the trouble (you won't lie and say that doesn't happen, because no one would believe it anyway). Maybe you can't talk about it long enough to officially designate your relationship, or help each other legitimately work though problems yet, but you can put a band-aid over the wounds until such a time as you  _can_ , and do your best to soothe the hurts in whichever ways will work in the meantime.

It's not easy; You're both abrasive and volatile, contradictory and sarcastic, laden heavy with troubles and more insecurities between the two of you than you could ever dream to count.

It has never, and  _will_ never be perfect.

That's okay, though. You'd like to keep it anyway, and you very much intend to. You're roasonably sure he feels the same way.


	2. Bonus 'Cus I Do What I Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I gotta explain my horns headcanon for y'all. It's not important to read though if you don't care about the mechanics, so **feel free to skip this note.**  
>  I think of horns as being a sensory organ. They'd be used to pick up certain vibrations or such so as to be aware of their environment, or alternatively to aid in navigating very dark places (such as in the caverns they're hatched in). I imagine that nearer the tips they'd be thicker/less touch-sensitive to prevent issues that might otherwise be caused by bumping into stuff or whatever, and that closer to the base it'd be a little more malleable and sensitive. Having an important sensory organ in a sort of dumb place, trolls have evolved so that if a lot of pressure is put on the horns (especially closer to the base), as if threatening to break them, that there would be a release of hormones and chemicals to make them go slack. This would prevent them from resisting the pressure and reduce the chance of breaking the horns. Think something similar to when you pick up a kitten by the scruff of the neck.

  
" _SOLLUX!_ "  
  


Oh holy  _FUCK,_ If there is anything you absolutely do NOT need right now, it is Karkat Vantas screaming. Were you to compose a Top Ten list of things you could really,  _really_  do without at the moment, Karkat's Screaming would take up every slot three and under. If you weren't counting the conditions that have  _made_  the yelling utterly and wholly intolerable, then Karkat's Screaming would take the top two as well; It's pretty much the worst possible thing for you to have to deal with on top of your already  _astronomical_ levels of pain.

You have it on good authority that there is an athletic competition being hosted inside your thinkpan involving lumberjacks, active construction sites, and an enthusiastic crowd made up of The Voices of Soon-To-Be Worm Chow. That authority is your mind-searing agony, and as far as you care that's the highest authority there is right now. Everything between your shoulders and your horns  _aches_ ; Your muscles are twisted into tight burning knots, your eyes are so light-sensitive that you can scarcely stand to open them, you can feel your pulse throbbing in your  _teeth_ for fuck's sake. And your head? You're almost positive that there aren't even words in your vocabulary to do the pounding waves of torture justice. Suffice it to say that, if given the choice between this and gnawing off your own hands, you well might have to learn how to navigate a keyboard with your toes.

So, yeah; The universe would be doing you a  _huge_ solid if Karkat would shut his face and happen to wander conveniently away from your little hideout without realizing that you're here.

Sadly, it's not much of a hideout. It is not, in fact, a hideout at all, but rather an arguably public venue that everybody in this hellhole knows about, and right now you are regretting your life choices. Yes, it is hands-down the most comfortable place you could have tucked away: A heap of plush scalemates, soft animal pelts, and various articles of (thankfully clean) clothing that has congealed in the back corner of a small, dark storage block not too far off from the lab. It is also, as previously mentioned, a spot everyone is aware of, so it's pretty high on the Places To Search If You're Looking For Someone checklist. You probably would have been better off ducking into a cleansing supplies cubby- No one would have found you there, at least.

The universe is unfortunately not taking requests at this time, and you brace your hands on your temples in preparation when you hear Karkat's thunderous approach. You hadn't even had the sense to burrow into the pile when you took refuge here, pain-addled as you are, so you're smack dab in the middle and right on top, curled on your (red) side where you are impossible to actually miss. You are coming to think that the universe may be deep in the black throes for you and is doing its best to solicit your hatred by screwing you over at almost every possible turn.

Sure enough, Karkat spots you plain as moonlight and makes a beeline for the pile, his fists clenched at his sides and his face in a scowl. You're already wincing.

"Hey,  _shitbag_ , I have been scowering this rock for your sorry ass for-"

" _KK_. For the love of fuck, not so  _loud_ ," you choke out, pressing the heels of your hands hard against your temples, and it's very nearly a sob. It stops him in both his literal and figurative tracks. His aggravated expression is instantly replaced by one that is roughly 50% concern, 20% reluctance to put his anger on pause long enough to find out what your major malfunction is, and 30% Oh Shit Wait What Should I Do. That is not the important part, though; The important part is that the way you spoke was apparently pathetic enough that he's temporarily shocked into silence.

He stands there near the pile awkwardly for a moment and gives you a quick once-over, presumably to look for any obvious signs of physical damage. You think that he must not be operating at full brain capacity if he can't immediately surmise what you're suffering from, but you can't ever really count on him to be all there when he's presented with something that distresses him emotionally. You suppose that finding his quasi-romantic partner / best friend miserably writhing around in almost crippling agony is probably something that distresses him emotionally.

"… What's wrong with you?" he asks, blessedly at a much more migraine-friendly volume, and in a tone that is trying very pointedly not to sound fretful.

"Headache," you tell him despondently, voice a little rough around the edges.

"Oh..."

There is another blissful (well, fractionally less terrible) stretch of noiselessness, broken only by some discomforted fidgeting on Karkat's part. You squeeze your eyes closed again, under the impression that you've given him an adequate enough reason to leave you alone; You're by no stretch of the imagination a pleasure to be around when your migraines hit, and it's not a secret that they can, in fact, be detrimental to  _other_ people's health on occasion. As a general rule, you're given a wide breadth when you're in severe pain because it makes you even more likely to fly off the handle over stupid shit than you usually are.

Apparently Karkat's sense of self preservation has gone the way of his missing brain function. Instead of turning around and walking right back out of the room like any half-sane person would, he spends a minute or two dawdling, then crosses the remainder of the gap between him and yourself to sit in the pile just next to where you're laying. You crack open one blue gander bulb to give him the best glare you can muster, but he just purses his lips and holds eye contact in challenge. It's not long at all before you decide that you don't have nearly enough fucks to give and close your eye again. He's not being his usual bothersome self, or at least he isn't  _yet_ , so you guess there's no real reason to exacerbate your headache in a likely vain attempt to get him to leave. Might as well just let him alone.

Neither of you do or say anything for some while- Unless the small noises of discomfort you make intermittently count- and even though it's not doing you any particular good, it  _is_ sort of nice to have company while you're feeling like shit, you guess. Specifically, company you don't have to worry will try to assault you one way or another while you're in a vulnerable position.

Ultimately though, your occasional grunts and whines become a Thing That Is No Longer Tolerable for Karkat; After one that comes close to being an honest to god whimper, he sighs, loud and uneasy.

"Did you try taking that synthesized pain remedy sap we found in the medical block?"

"No, of courthe not. Why would that thought even occur to me? It'th not like it'th the most obviouth firtht courthe of action to anyone with a functioning brain or anything."

"Fuck you twice sideways. What about a cup of steeped plant-matter? I'm sure Kanaya would make some if we put in a request for it."

"That fetid thwill ithn't good for anything but churning my digethtive thack."

"I think if there's so much as half a chance that it could help, it'd be well worth the effort you'd have to expend to stop being a huffy pantywaste of a wiggler long enough to choke it down."

"Well there  _ithn't_ half a chance and I'm not going to drink it."

"Like you would fucking know whether or not it could work."

"I do."

"No you don't, you're just being a stubborn whiney bulgebag."

"Dude, if a thyrupy death-flavored chemical cocktail dethigned thpecifically to block pain can't do the job, then I'm pretty sure thome foliage in hot water ithn't going to cut it."

"… Alright, fine, I'll concede to that point. Have you-"

"KK,  _thtop_. Would you jutht be quiet?"

"Are you seriously so resigned to the physical and mental anguish you're apparently dealing with here that you won't even  _consider_ that there might be a way to alleviate some of it? That's fucking pathetic, Captor. I'm not sure if I can associate with someone this deplorable, I might have to void our contract of friendship."

"No, really; Firmly secure your squawk blister in the muted position," you flop a hand over to the side and swat him on the thigh.

There is a wonderful lapse back into silence...

For maybe all of a whole three minutes.

"… My future self is probably cursing me as we speak for even asking, but is there anything I can do?"

"You can _close your_   _horrendous god damn mouth,_ you inthufferable little  _shit,_ " you hiss at him, full of venom.

He looks taken aback for just a second at the outburst, but recovers quickly and delivers a pretty impressive sneer. "Wow, I don't think I've ever been proven right so fast in my life. Congratulations, nookwhiff, you've set a new Asshole Record."

" _Which part of 'shut the fuck up' are you not underthtanding_."

The rational part of your brain, buried under at least seven different layers of frustration, pain and aggravation, is surprised when Karkat neither storms out nor starts yelling- He just grits his teeth hard and quiets. That same part is also dimly aware that you'll feel like shit later about snapping at him for wanting to help you. At the forefront of your mind, however, you are much more focused on the fact that he's stopped talking, effectively dropping the external noise levels to zero. That is a really, really nice number for the external noise levels to be, and your aching pan thanks you for the small amount of difference it makes.

You snuggle a little deeper into the soft pile. Apparently Karkat finds this to be an appealing concept and lays down himself, curling on his side a small ways in front of you. Though you can't see him right now, you can feel his eyes on you. He's stubborn like a crotchety old mule, so you know that he's probably still trying to come up with a trick to allay your ailments, but you couldn't give half a shit less so long as he's not doing it out loud.

.

-::{( ~ . : '*' : . ~ )}::-  
.

After a bit, when you've almost managed a restless doze, you feel fingers brushing over your cheekbone and your eyes snap open. Karkat's somehow shuffled up closer without you noticing and his face isn't very far from yours. You give him an unamused glare, but he's not looking at you anyway; His gaze is fixed somewhere over your head, and his brows are furrowed, the way they are when he's trying to figure out the solution to a problem. Is this bulgemonger trying to pet you without even  _realizing_ it or something?

"… KK."

His eyes fall to meet yours, and he holds the visual contact. He's clearly still mentally preoccupied by whatever he was thinking about, though, and he doesn't say anything. What he  _does_ do is pull off your glasses and toss them higher up the pile, then settle his offending hand on the side of your head so he can rub tight little circles against your temple with his thumb.

… Fine. It isn't going to actually help your migraine, but if it'll make him feel better and keep him from fussing like a cluckbeast lusus again, then whatever.

When you fail to pitch a ragefit about the action, Karkat takes it as a go-ahead. He shifts his weight so he can slide his other hand between your head and the rumpled tshirt it's resting on, and applies the rubbing motion to your red-side temple as well. While it does nothing for your pain, it's still sort of soothing. It also somewhat placates that half-smothered section of your mind that knows you'll feel guilty later for having been needlessly testy with him; He can't be  _too_ upset about it if he's still got any interest in initiating nonviolent contact. You decide to further assuage the vague nagging by tilting your head a bit and pressing a kiss to one of Karkat's wrists in half-assed apology.

You settle into a… Well, not quite  _relaxed_ state, but certainly less tense. The feel of Karkat's thumbs in their consistent, repetitive motion gives you something to focus on other than the heavy pounding that's making your brain rattle inside your pan. His weight nearby eases you, and his body heat is cozy and mollifying. The combination of all these things makes your headache marginally less unbearable, and overall leaves you feeling a little bit lulled.

Until there's suddenly a set of fingers clamped hard around the bases of your blue-side horns.

Your built-in reaction is to be  _very fucking alarmed holyshitohgodohno_ , and you have just enough time to yelp rather hilariously before the flood of various hormones hits your system like a freight train. It is a very large freight train that comes barreling out of the blue and completely bowls you over, leaving you almost entirely limp amidst the wreckage that is your higher physical functions.

" _KK_ , what the  _fuck?_ " you ask, voice thin and airy for the way your body is trying to tell everything non-vital to kick on the brakes. You want to twist your fingers tightly into the front of his shirt for the sense of being grounded, but all you can manage is a very weak grasp on the fabric. You're pretty sure you're going to have to gut your best friend with a rounded eating utensil when you're in full control of your limbs again.

"Shoosh. You're fine, Captor, don't be a grub," he reassures blandly to try and remind your brain that he is not, in fact, any actual danger to you. If you'd seen it coming (and weren't in such a pissy mood), you probably wouldn't have been _especially_ bothered by Karkat grabbing at your horns; It's not really uncommon to let people you trust gently stimulate them in order to send tiny trickles of the chemicals that, in small doses, can be relaxing and pleasant.

This, however, is not  _gentle_ stimulation, this is a veritable death grip that had been thrust upon you without warning, and your instincts consider that a serious threat, logic or no.

The reflexive panic can be dealt with in the same way all panic can, though- By establishing an atmosphere of comfort and safety. That's what Karkat goes for; He slides his free hand under your neck and around your shoulders, then uses the leverage to roll you over with him just a bit so that he's lying on his back with you tucked into his side, your cheek resting on his chest. Once you're situated, he yanks one of the larger animal pelts out of the heap from somewhere behind your back and drags it to completely cover the both of you, with a little difficulty for needing to do it one-handed, which gives a vague impression of being securely huddled inside a cocoon.

When he's satisfied that he's created a suitably calming environment (and it admittedly is, for all that the approach is simple), he uses his free hand to smooth your hair and churrs a soft conciliatory noise that sounds a little strange coming from him.

You sigh in relief when he loosens the hold on your horns, and after a few seconds you're less utterly useless; You still can't move around very much or quickly, but at least you can speak properly again. "Wath that  _really_ fucking nethethary?" you thump a loosely curled fist against his sternum in reprimand. "What are you trying to accomplish here, shithead? If you did that jutht to keep me from fighting you on inappropriately timed Happy Thstarshine Thnuggle Hour, tho help me, I will murder you in your thleep."

"Please. Like I'm really so inclined to get all disgusting and cuddly while you're being a pain in my ass that I'd put that much effort into it. Not that it was actually  _difficult_ , but the fact remains that it would not by any measure have been worth it," he snorts.

"Then what are you even trying to  _do?_ Give me a heart attack? Render me immobile tho you can call for backup and force me to drink that nathty leaf water after all?"

"I thought it might help- You know, with the headache and the knots you probably have from holding yourself rigid like an idiot," he shrugs the shoulder you aren't half-laying on. "Override your system with chemicals that might block pain to a certain extent, or can at least thoroughly distract you, and force your muscles to unclench. Did it work?"

You take a moment to assess the state of your suffering to discover that there has, in fact, been a fairly marked improvement. It's still awful—Your head continues to throb relentlessly, your neck and shoulders still burn—But it  _is_ several degrees less agonizing, like the sharp edges have been filed down. "… Oh. Yeah, I gueth it did help a little. Congratth on proving yourthelf not to be completely incompetent in all thingth ever, it mutht be really exthiting for you," you snark good-naturedly and nudge at Karkat's jaw with your nose.

"Holy fuck, Sollux, settle down," you can practically  _hear_ him rolling his eyes, and he takes up fiddling idly with locks of your hair. "No need to drown me in your gratitude or anything. I hardly deserve such high praises."

"Don't be tho modetht, KK, it'th the leatht I could do. I'm not sure how I'll ever repay you for the great thervithe you've done all of trollkind by not being ath unfailingly inept ath we all thought you were."

"You could start by groveling at my feet and begging forgiveness on behalf of your incredible capacity to be an atrocious asshole at every available opportunity."

"Oh, of courthe. Let me do it in writing though, tho you can frame it. It'll be hand-printed in gold calligraphy on the finetht cholerbear-thkin parchment, and it will read: My darling KK, pleathe do not hethitate to eat my nook," you plant a pair of kisses under his chin. "But thtill, thankth for making me leth mitherable."

**Author's Note:**

> * I think 'honey' is basically _the_ most perfect derisive petname for Sollux to call Karkat ever. Obviously for correlation with bees and stuff, but mostly because, while honey is sweet and delicious, [mind]honey makes Sollux flip his shit something spectacular and shoot lazers out of his eyes, but he's forced to handle it anyway. :p


End file.
